


When the Hyacinth Blooms

by chapmanchick



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Original Work
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapmanchick/pseuds/chapmanchick
Summary: Hyacinthus, who tries to ward off Zephyrus' unwanted affection, accidentally insulted Apollo. Apollo, however, would rather woo the young mortal instead of punishing them. The two share a blissful and tender relationship before Zephyrus becomes enraged with jealousy.
Relationships: Apollo & Artemis (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Apollo/Hyacinthus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Apollo/Zeus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Hyacinthus/Zephyrus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	When the Hyacinth Blooms

“Like the hyacinth on the hills which the shepherd people step on, trampling into the ground the flower in its purple.”

-Sappho

Hyacinthus reached the top of the mountain just before dusk, the dying light painted the trees and craggly rocks in shadows and silence. He most certainly had not prepared for the mountain trek and it showed. Leaves and flowers tangled in his dark curls and sweat plastered his chiton to his back. One sandal lost its way halfway up the mountain, and the other was hanging on for dear life. Hyacinthus’ feet were torn and sore, but he cared not one bit. 

Hyacinthus carelessly tossed the woven laurel wreath, still pristine, though nothing else was. Fucking gods. He grabbed two stones, and with practiced ease lit a small fire on a bundle of twigs. Grabbing the twigs up, not caring if he scorched himself, and threw them upon the laurel wreath.

“Now what have I ever done to you, Little Prince, that would incite such rage from you?” A warm voice like a summer's day spoke softly behind Hyacinthus. The tone could almost be mistaken for teasing, but Hyacinthus knew that the gods were not much for humor.

Hyacinthus whipped around, ready to be subjected to the whims of the West Wind. He was not faced with Zephyrus, who Hyacinthus had been expecting, but instead someone actually pleasing to the eyes. Several feet away from him stood a young, gentle-looking man cloaked in golden light. The light chased the shadows away, bathing the mountaintop like the Sun was at its zenith. He possessed a bright smile, playful eyes, and raucous blond curls that tumbled to his shoulders.

“I-I’m sorry?” stuttered out Hyacinthus. His eyes grew wide and he stumbled away from the young man. The two men were yards apart and Hyacinthus did not know if he wanted that space to become larger, or shrink till there was nothing left.

“What have I done to you, Muse’s Child, that would make you want to burn a sacred symbol of myself?” the young man repeated. He stepped closer to Hyacinthus, who tried to stumble away. His one broken sandal caught on a jagged rock, and both Hyacinthus’ body and gravity betrayed him. He braced for impact against the harsh mountainside, an impact that never came. Warm, solid arms wrapped around him. Opening his eyes, not even realizing that he closed them in the first place, Hyacinthus saw genial brown eyes mocking him. Mere moments before the two men were several feet apart. There was no way he could have moved to catch Hyacinthus with such ease. Unless…

“You might want to be a little more careful, Little Prince,” Apollo chuckled, pulling Hyacinthus upright.

“Apollo,” Hyacinthus breathed out. He looked deep into the Apollo’s eyes, mirth, playfulness, and kindness swirled in his molten gaze.

“Ah! He figures it out at last! Glory, glory! What gave away my godliness? The Glow? The Beauty? Now please enlighten me, what have I done to you, Little Prince?” Again, mocking. Hyacinthus shook himself out of his stupor, annoyance piercing him.

“The wreath was given to me by Zephyrus, my Lord. It was not you I aimed to anger. If I did, I simply must beg your apology,” snapped Hyacinthus. With fair ease, he pushed out of Apollo’s arms, the young god letting Hyacinthus go. A little voice in his head, which reminded him of his older sister, told him to stop trying to piss of an Olympian. Hyacinthus’ present fury and frustrations gave her no heed. Another, secret part of himself trembled at his audaciousness to a god.

“Oh, thank the Moirai, I was worried that I had done something to anger you. Would have been much harder to get into you bed had that been the case. Unless you enjoy hate sex, then I’m sure that could be arranged.” The words spilled out of the god’s smirking mouth, fast enough that it took Hyacinthus’ mind a few seconds to catch up. Once he did, he blushed a scarlet red, and sputtered. He did not know whether to be flustered or furious. Once Apollo started laughing, Hyacinthus made up his mind; He brushed off Apollo, and stormed passed him to begin his trek down the mountain. More golden laughter followed Hyacinthus down the side of the mountain until he heard it no longer.

Down the mountain Hyacinthus went, not caring about his one broken sandal that continued to fall apart. His fresh rage at the god’s antics was all-encompassing to the point that he did not feel the rocks piercing the delicate skin on his feet, or the tree branches that whipped at him from all sides. Never once did he think that the tree’s movements were from a supernatural origin.

Apollo was not so oblivious. He watched with humor as Hyacinthus turned his back on him until he noticed the tree’s and the bushes move in unnatural ways, and how the wind wailed. Light and laughter drained away, replaced with repulsion. The trees moved as if a tempest raged, but there were no clouds, no torrential downpour. They whipped at Hyacinthus with undued rage, going back to normal once the mortal passed. He looked to the sky. The figure was invisible to all mortal’s eyes, but Apollo was anything but mortal. 

“Zephyrus, leave him alone,” Apollo warned. The Wind God descended from the sky, wrath curdled his features. The winds whipped harder at the trees. Branches snapped and young plants were pulled up from the roots.

“I will not! That insolent boy has spit in my face, refuted my advances! Such actions cannot go unaccounted for!” Spittle flew from Zephyrus’ lips, and Apollo looked at Zephyrus with cold, empty eyes. Zephyrus shivered at the implications of those features. It reminded him more of Apollo’s sister, Artemis, that cold gaze, than anything the jolly Sun God could muster. Fear settled into Zephyrus’ mind.

“Would you tempt Clio’s wrath by killing her youngest? She may be a gentle Muse, but the Muses are favored by both gods and mortals. Would you tempt them? All of them? Would you become another one of Clio’s tales to accompany her sisters’ lyre?” Apollo warned. He added a bit of heat to his words, singeing the fringe of Zephyrus’ hair. The West Wind did not desire to stay a moment longer. He snarled and swiftly fled to the open skies. Apollo looked back to the forest and heaved a great sigh. At least it would not be hard to track Hyacinthus’ movements. One would think that the boy was the minotaur with the amount of destruction he left in his wake.

~*~

Hyacinthus himself was having a terrible time. He obtained numerous cuts and scrapes from the trees surrounding him. Winds whipped through the forest launching all kinds of debris at the young prince sending him sprawling multiple times, adding to his multitude of injuries. Hyacinthus would look up to the sky, seeing clearly to the stars beyond, and yet he could swear a tempest was raging like it would in the open sea. Only after his third tumble, an exceptionally sharp rock slicing deep into his side, did the truth click.

This was Zephyrus’ doing. Hyacinthus may have summoned Apollo first, but the West Wind still heard his insult, and now Hyacinthus was paying the price. Hot tears cascaded down Hyacinthus’ face as he pushed himself up once more. His anger abruptly left him, filling him with fear and dread at the consequences of his actions. He had anger possibly two gods, one of them an Olympian. Hyacinthus came to a sudden conclusion.

He may never get off of this mountain. Hyacinthus could see it now in his mind’s eye. Zephyrus’ storm would weaken him and Apollo would hunt him down. Far-Shooting Apollo would ready his bow, pull the string back, and let loose the arrow. It would find its home in Hyacinthus heart, and he would never see Sparta again. Would never see the halls of his father's palace, share another meal with his darling sister, and never again learn tales and songs from his divine mother.

Hyacinthus stood up once more, desperation clawing at him. Pushing his body, Hyacinthus tried to rush down to the bottom of the mountain on unsteady legs. Panic, fatigue, and hopelessness crashed down on him all at once and he missed his footing while he tried to cross a small stream. The rock where Hyacinthus had placed his foot was too wet and his foot slipped right out from under him, twisting and an unsightly way. Pain exploded from his ankle, and Hyacinthus felt something crack just before he fell face first into the shallow waters.

Freezing waters washed over Hyacinthus. A dull throb in his head contrasted with the sharpness travelling up his leg. Adrenaline pumped through him and he sat up abruptly, sitting firmly in the middle of the stream. However, that was as far as he got before shock settled in and he couldn’t move anymore. Hyacinthus gazed passed his immediate surroundings, unable to process what had just happened.

Water rippled passed him maliciously, travelling freely away from this cursed mountain.

~*~

By the time Apollo caught up with Hyacinthus, he had to physically restrain himself from laughing at the poor fool. Hyacinthus laid in a shallow stream, propped up on one elbow. One knee had a very large gash in it, and the other leg’s ankle was twisted in an unseemly angle, mottled purple and blue spreading across the pale skin. Hyacinthus himself was staring blankly into empty space, probably cursing his very existence. 

“My, my,” Apollo startled Hyacinthus into reality. Apollo didn’t notice the jolt of fear that pulsed through Hyacinthus, fear coloring his eyes. “It’s a real wonder why anyone in Sparta lets you go anywhere,” Apollo cooed at Hyacinthus, whose cheeks flushed a lovely pink, not unlike Dawn’s rosy fingers curling along the new mornings’ sky. Apollo inched closer to the stream, and when Hyacinthus gave no indication of rebuking him again but eyed him warily, and gently picked him up out of the brisk water. Apollo set Hyacinthus against a large stone and took stock of his injuries. He flinched harshly when Apollo’s deft fingers traced along the cuts and bruises. Apollo promptly took his hands away, not wanting to cause any more harm or discomfort.

“May I heal you, Little Prince? You’ve had a harrowing day, and I would not be shocked if you wanted nothing to do with any more gods. If that is the case, I can take you back to Sparta and let them take care of you there.” Apollo’s concerned eyes honestly implored Hyacinthus. Hyacinthus got the feeling that Apollo was being entirely sincere in his words, however much Apollo wanted to take care of Hyacinthus. He would hold to his words.

A shiver wracked Hyacinthus frame. Between the chilling night and his drenched state, the cold seeped deep into his bones. He thought of the stone home that waited for him back in Sparta, as well as the long recovery time he was looking at, if his leg every recovered at all. Yet here was Apollo, warm and kind and bright.

“Why,” Hyacinthus croaked out.

“I think you’re going to have to be a little more specific than that,” chided Apollo.

“Why are you not just taking what you want. You have your prey here, injured and unable to escape, so why haven't you taken me yet? I’m ripe for the picking!” Hysterics grappled at Hyacinthus. A part of him told him to stop poking the bear, but Hyacinthus couldn’t help it, the words just tumbled out of his throat with his ragged breaths. Apollo himself seem dumbfounded, though he recovered swiftly. Apollo softened at his edges.

“You’re right. Up on Olympus I’m surrounded by those who take, take, take, never giving a second thought to those that they harm. To them, everything is a game and nothing has consequences. I used to be like them too. Artemis and I killed a mothers’ children simply because she thought herself above my own mother. I couldn’t tell you why I’ve changed, but I never want to harm if there is another course of action. Yes, I want you. You’re all the Muses’ ever talk about, and for years I have pined after you from Olympus. But if you want nothing to do with me, I will return you to safety and never return.” Apollo knelt on the frigid ground, uncaring for the damp or the chill. Hyacinthus could not doubt the sincerity emanating from the young god. Hyacinthus thought for several moments, before giving a quick, shaky nod.

“I would like to stay here, then,” Hyacinthus rasped out, emotion choking him, and shivers took over his whole frame. Apollo smile was tender, seeming relieved by the response. Apollo’s gentle glow brightened just a bit, and Hyacinthus was awashed with blessed warmth. Hyacinthus closed his eyes in bliss. He then felt Apollo’s deft fingers once again cataloging his injuries before focusing on his ankle. Hyacinthus winced again, but held back any harsher reactions. Soon warmth flooded into his ankle and the pain numbed.

“ You’re Clio’s child, no?” asked Apollo. Hyacinthus opened his eyes to look at Apollo but Apollo was wholly focused on his task. They both knew the answer, of course, so Hyacinthus decided to humor him and nodded.

“Sing me a tale of old then. She is the Muse of history. I’m sure you know magnificent stories.” Again, Hyacinthus nodded, looking thoughtful. He cleared his throat, and began singing a soft note, weaving the beginning of a tale. Apollo did not recognize the characters named in the story, but it was not a tale for him. Soft golden light spilled from his fingertips continued to flow. Hyacinthus now distracted, Apollo began his work. He started with the swollen twisted ankle, gentle moving it this way and that. Apollo looked up at Hyacinthus, but he seemed to have no notice of the pain. The swelling and discoloration disappeared and full movement was regained. Then he moved to the larger cuts, some of which were still freely bleeding. Golden light swirl into the open wounds gently coaxing the cuts into closing up. He let Hyacinthus’ soothing voice wash over him as he healed the wounds till none were left. Hyacinthus’ song came to a close and Apollo’s magic fade away, night had fully fallen, and the two bathed in the Moon’s heavenly glow. Apollo sidled up close to Hyacinthus, an arm snaking around his waist to rest his hand on his hip. Hyacinthus gives him a scathing side eye that Apollo willfully ignores. Both, however, were relieved to return to their more playful bantering.

“Quite the mood lighting, hm?” Apollo oh-so-subtly hints. Hyacinthus rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop a small smile from gracing his lips.

“Do you really want to fuck in front of you sister?” Hyacinthis shoots back, tipping his head towards the moon. Apollo freezes, eyes going wide before he lets out an uneasy laugh.

“No, I guess not. I do not know what she would do to me if she found me with my chiton around my ankles. With her impeccable aim, certainly nothing pleasant.” He mused, startling a laugh out of Hyacinthus, and continued in a hopeful tone.

“But it is getting quite chilly out here in the mountains, and you mortals are ever so fragile. I would hate to return you to Sparta missing a toe or two. It seems that our only choice is to snuggle really close to one another.” The hand on Hyacinthus' hip began rubbing soothing circles. Hyacinthus rolled his eyes at Apollo’s terrible flirting skills. He certainly is no god of Love, that is for sure. Hyacinthus gazed at the heavens, pleadingly, before closing them.

“Fine,” he huffed out. Immediately Apollo jumped up, hauling Hyacinthus with him. The two staggered hand in had through the dark to find a less rock filled bed. Despite his earlier reservations. Hyacinthus felt calm and at ease with Apollo. It had been too long since he had felt so free, and was hesitant to let it go.

~*~

Lethargy grappled with Hyacinthus’ consciousness as he laid on top of Apollo. It had been months since that night on the mountain, and Hyacinthus had quickly fell to Apollo’s charming ways, the two became the closest of lovers. Hyacinthus traced lazy figures into the smooth skin on Apollo’s hip while Apollo played with Hyacinthus’ soft curls. The two currently laid upon a woven blanket on the Island of Delos. The blanket had been a gift from Apollo’s sister Athena. On the blanket was woven the story Hyacinthus told Apollo the first night they met, on the mountain overshadowing Sparta. It was a story that his mother had told him as a child on her knee, about another people's pantheon. 

A goddess’s husband had been chopped into pieces and scattered across the desert. She travelled across the treacherous lands, finding and putting the pieces back together. Golden sand merged with the midnight sky, silver thread glistening as stars. The goddess, clothed in ethereal white raced across the tapestry in search of her husbands’ pieces. Decorative and bright wings lined the border of the tapestry. Apollo must have told Athena about that night on the mountain and wove this blanket for the two. Hyacinthus had yet to meet the goddess herself, but when he did he needed to express his deepest gratitude. Hyacinthus blushed when presented with the gorgeous gift and had hid his crimson face in the Crook of Apollo’s neck. Apollo rumbled with laugher at Hyacinthus’ gratitude. Suddenly Apollo gave a small chuckle and Hyacinthus hummed curiously.

“I really must find your mother and give her my deepest compliments.” Warm laughter colored his words. Hyacinthus felt a rush of gentle heat wash over him, courtesy of Apollo.

“Whatever for?” Hyacinth said into golden skin. “And you really haven’t seen her since we started? “

“I’ve been to busy bathing in your presence, my dearest. I feel the deepest need to thank her for making such a beautiful being such as yourself of course. Your hair for starters. I’ve never seen a color so deep before. In just the right lighting, it looks nearly purple! And your eyes, the darkest blue in the whole wide world. Paired with your pale, pasty skin? A ravishing combination,” Apollo teased, tugging at a curl. Hyacinthus nipped at a bit of skin for the ‘pasty’ comment before shifting to look into Apollo’s playful brown eyes. Apollo yelped and tugged Hyacinthus’ locks a bit too hard. 

“Do you really want to tell my mother that you’ve defiled her precious little boy?” Hyacinthus inquired.

“Defiled, most certainly not. I might, however, tell her that I’ve been worshiping her greatest creation. Think she would like me then?” Apollo tugged gently but more insistently on Hyacinthus’ curls, pulling him up to settle next to the young sun god. The two shared a gentle kiss before laying back down. Their limbs splayed together and it was nearly impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

“You say that as if you aren’t already the Muse’s favorite god,” a smirk tugged at the corner of Hyacinthus’ mouth and Apollo hummed again, in contentment.

“You’re right, what am I worrying about? Any mother would love to have me as their son’s lover.” Apollo’s wild, confident grin had Hyacinthus’ stomach flip-flopping so he poked the god in his fleshy side. Apollo gave an indignant squeak and squirmed away from Hyacinthus’ boney fingers. Hyacinthus laughed and the other pouted at his mistreatment. Hyacinthus pulled Apollo close again and placed soft apologetic kisses along his neck and collarbone. He knew he was forgiven when Apollo tilted his chin up and they shared a tender kiss.

“Besides, I must thank her for giving you to the world. It would be a worse place without you” Hyacinthus blushed a deeper crimson. The two settled after a few moments, and Hyacinthus went back to tracing swirling figures on Apollo’s perfect skin.

“I have a question for you,” Apollo started. “Do you remember the day we met?”

“I don’t think I could forget, my dear,” was Hyacinthus’ given response.

“I’ve wondered, why were you burning a god’s gift? We are not usually the forgiving sort. I know you’re impulsive, but what could Zephyrus have done to incur your wrath in such a way?” Hyacinthus sighed at Apollo’s inquiry, but he did not have to fortitude to deny his lover anything, including that tale. Hyacinthus hid his face in Apollo’s shoulder and murmured his reasons there.

“Zephyrus and his brother both tried to woo me. Boreas took the rejection well enough, but Zephyrus would have none of it. That laurel wreath he gave me was the final straw, and I was through with him.” Hyacinthus really did not like thinking back to those days. They were not good times for him. 

“I remember also wooing you on that day. How come my affections were sanctioned, but his were not?” inquired Apollo. It was an innocent enough question, he supposed. Still, Hyacinthus stopped his doodling and sat up with a heavy sigh. Apollo followed soon after, taking one of Hyacinthus' hands in his own. They looked out over the island to the blue sea. Apollo reflected that the waters around his island were the exact shade of Hyacinthus’ eyes. He’s stared at this view for hours on end, and willingly drowned in his lovers’ gaze.

“Because you were kind and gentle and respectful. Zephyrus just wanted to take, take, take. You gave me safet, sanctuary, and the freedom to choose. You were, are, everything that he isn’t and far more. So I chose; you.” Apollo stared dumbly taken aback by Hyacinthus’ declaration, but soon recovered.

“Well, I for one will be eternally grateful for his choice of gift. It led me to you after all.” Apollo’s mischievous smirk came back in full force. Hyacinthus rolled his eyes, but acquiesced and leaned against his shoulder.

“You’re such a sap,” he said, exasperated. Apollo rumbled in laughter, not bothering to correct him. Hyacinthus smiled at his ridiculous lover. He hoped to never lose Apollo’s attention. He sighed internally. The gods’ were fickle things, and he knows that as soon as he started to gray, his attentions would turn to someone younger. For a single moment, he hoped death would touch him before that happened but swiftly shook the thought from his mind. For now, he would simply enjoy these pleasant moments.

~*~

Hyacinthus was dead to the world, wrapped around Apollo in a vise like grip as the two laid in their chambers in the Delphi Temple. The day had been taxing on both, presiding over the Prythian games, but Apollo hesitated to sleep. It was for no real reason, but he loved how different Hyacinthus looked when asleep. He was peaceful, but also not very attractive. His mouth hung open, he moved often, poking and kicking at Apollo all throughout the night, and he snored something awful. Apollo teased Hyacinthus endlessly about it, but he also loved seeing him completely unrestrained like this. Apollo was about to lay his head down himself when he noticed an unnatural soft silver light cascade through the window. He looked up in time to see his sister, Artemis, fully form. Apollo rolled his eyes and began the arduous task of disentangling himself from Hyacinthus, all the while trying not to wake him up. He could feel Artemis’ silent laughter from behind him.

“He really is a beautiful as everyone says he is,” Artemis mocked as her and Apollo left the room. Apollo glared at her, which made her laugh even harder.

“I hate you, I really do.”

“Come now, who else would keep you humble?”

“Hermes does a pretty good job of it.”

“Fine, have it your way. This isn’t what I came here to talk about.” The two stepped out of the temple onto the steps. Rich greenery in shapely figures marked the path they travelled. Both gods stretched their hands how to opposite side, perfectly in unwitting sinc. Liquid silver and gold trailed across the leaves painting a divine scene.

“Then what is it you’ve come here to talk about, if not my lover’s beauty?” Apollo asked, though he knew the answer to his own question.

“There have been rumors circulating Olympus.” Artemis stopped and settled her touch on a single rose, turning the whole flower an illuminous silver.

“What kind of rumors,” Apollo played coy and sprawled across a marble bench.

“Rumor has it that you’ve been in many closed meetings with Father. Now, as much as you adore him,” Sarcasm dripped from her tong, and she speared Apollo with a pointed look. “You and I both know that there are very few conversations that you would want private from the other gods.” Artemis walked over to Apollo and sat down on the grass. She leaned against his side and he wrapped an arm loosely around her. His fingers rubbed gently on her smooth shoulder.

“Get on with it, will you,” he muttered, turning his face away from her.

“You want to make Hyacinthus a god. You’ve been trying to convince Father to do it.” Finally, Artemis got to the point.

“Not try, I did.” Artemis perked up at that, swiftly standing up and nearly dislodging Apollo from his place.

“You convinced Father? When will you do it? Soon I hope, who knows what could happen in the meantime.” Artemis paced back and forth, almost murmuring to herself.

“I haven’t told him yet.” Artemis stopped her pacing and turned her piercing gaze on him.

“Well why not?” She shot back. Apollo looked away, uncertainty filling his eyes.

“What if he doesn’t want it?” Apollo spoke in a small voice. Artemis rolled her eyes and stalked loser to him, taking grasp of his arms, as if to shake sense into him.

“If you really think that, than you’re a bigger fool than I previously believed you to be, Little Brother, and that’s saying something since I’ve never had high hopes for you.” Artemis’ stern gaze softened and mirth filled her gaze again. Apollo squaked his indignation. She shone silvery at her edges before dissolving back into moonlight.

“Artemis!” Apollo screamed at the moon, “Godsdamnit, get back here!” He huffed and puffed for a few minutes before returning to the seclusion of the temple and into the safety of his lovers arms.

~*~

Apollo and Hyacinthus threw the discus in equal turns. Apollo, the damned archer, always hit the stick that they had shoved into the dry ground. Hyacinthus was never really one for sports, but the constant losing stung. After a few hours, he suggested that they toss the discus to one another, catching and throwing. Apollo agreed and so they played the new game. It was easy and simple, a quiet afternoon. This didn’t last long before the two began to add some flair to it. Hyacinthus ran to the far end of the field. Apollo, with his godly strength, launched the discus. Hyacinthus ran to catch it, farther than he thought it would go. It still seemed so very far out of his reach.

A wind blew.

Hyacinthus swiped his curls out of his eyes, momentarily losing sight of the discus.

He was on the ground.

Pain, radiating out from his head encompassed his whole self. He couldn’t feel any part of his body, let alone move. His vision unfocused. He saw the Sun, the Storm, the Heaven. And then nothing at all.

Hyacinthus’ spirit linger on the earthly plane, his body yet to go through the necessary funeral rights. He watched in anguish as Apollo held and sobbed over his lifeless body. The bloody discus laid forgotten. Zeus stood above him, pity in his gaze. It was a moment before Apollo realized his father was there.

“Bring him back!” He screamed at Zeus. “Bring him back to me!” Fat, ugly sobs racked his frame.

“I cannot,” was Zeus’ only reply.

“Liar! You’re the King of the Gods. You can do whatever you want so. Bring. Him. Back!” Apollo glared and screamed, his voice becoming raw. It was odd, seeing him like this. Tears and snot ran down his face. Hyacinthus didn’t think he ever saw Apollo less than perfect, but here, over his lovers' body, he was as ugly as any mortal.

“Or make me mortal, Father, so that I may one day be able to join him in Hades’ realm,” he pleaded.

“I cannot,” Zeus repeated, “Even I cannot go against the hands of Fate.” Sadness and regret colored Zeus’ words. They, however, did not calm Apollo in the least.

Apollo screamed his wordless anguish at his father.. The realization sunk in and it seemed as if all hope and anger fled his body. All of his strength gave out. He and Hyacinthus; bodies slumped to the hard, unforgiving ground. Red blood so deep it was nearly purple seeped into the dirt. Desperate, breathless, racking sobs ripped themselves from Apollo. Zeus looked to the heavens, for once not knowing what to do, and so he did nothing. His eyes caught an airborne figure, fleeing.

Eventually Apollo’s sobs faded when he had nothing left to give. He lifted his head from his lover’s lifeless body. He tucked a dark curl behind an ear, cupped Hyacinthus' cheek, and gave a final, watery smile. A small idea eased its way into his mind. Hyacinthus watched as Apollo glowed his gentle gold, and wrapped his divinity around his lover’s body. The gold burned brighter and brighter, and then simmered down. Now, where Hyacinthus lay, was a single flower, tall and deep and blue.

“What will you call it?” Asked Zeus.

“Isn’t it obvious? A hyacinth.”

Hyacinthus closed his eyes on the mortal realm, and opened them in Elysian’s blessed Isles.


End file.
